The Untold and Unknown
by Burritoyum
Summary: Katniss Snow is the daughter of the president of Panem. Always thought of as being just like her father, she is different in every way. "I am not- nor do I wish to be anything like- my father. There are things about me that are unknown. There are things left untold. I never thought I'd end up here, but hopefully it shows you a bit of who my father really is; the enemy."
1. Not How it Seems

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own The Hunger Games. Although I'm sure you know that...**

**Note:** Hey, Burritoyum here! This is a new story I'm coming out with, but the others will still be being updated, so have no fear! I want to thanks all those who are here because they liked my other stories, and hopefully will like this one just as much! Uhh... I don't know what else to say other than LEAVE REVIEWS please. Comments, questions, even demands (within reason of course) will be taken into consideration or construction... Anywho, here ya' go!

~Burritoyum

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_**Chapter One:**__ Not Everything is How it Seems..._

Not for the first time, I wake up and allow myself to be vulnerable. I wake up wishing that my father cared for me more than my attendant. I crave the love that I was deprived of as a child, and still long for. I wish that I lived in a small home in a district rather than a mansion in the Capitol. Not for the first time, I wish I lived a different life, had a different family, was a different _person._

Then I lock my longings deep within me, and say a little chant I've developed to keep me from killing my father, and at times, myself. _My name is Katniss Snow. My father is the president of Panem. The people of the Capitol adore him; I hate him and what he supports._

This reminds me that the Reapings are coming up. The thought brings bile to my throat. I've never agreed with my father on anything, but the Hunger Games is a subject that I can't even think about without feeling resentment to this man. This is the true proof that his heart is just another plastic injection that he feels he needs to fake for the peoples' approvals of him. I don't understand, because people in the Capitol are about as smart as they are colorful, and that being said, Capitol people aren't anything if not unnaturally colorful.

My attendant, Lucia, taps my shoulder once again, bringing me out of my unpleasant thoughts. I crack my eye open and smile at the girl, who is twelve at most. She has shoulder length, wavy light brown hair with crystal-blue eyes. A pang of guilt stabs me to think that she'd been ripped from her family in District Eight because she had stolen a piece of food from the bakery there, and that my father is the reason for such poverty. As much as he tried to keep me shielded from what goes on outside of the Capitol, I'd always known something was wrong with the way he ruled. It never seemed just to me.

She smiled her bright smile, and a warm smile starts to form on my face. I'm grateful that I'd managed to sweet talk my father out of turning her into an Avox for her "crime", and she tells me every day how much she loves me like I were her sister. My father allowed me to share a room with her, and I keep her from his fists, which he has no trouble delivering to my face because of the high-grade healing creams and makeups that he buys.

"Good morning," she smiles tiredly. I reply with a, "It is for now."

I know I may seem cynical and plain mean to some, but that's just my defense. I built it as soon as my mother "left", and it was meant to protect myself from getting hurt and persuaded by the lies my father has numerously tried to make me believe. I only have few true friends, ones that I trust whole-heartedly, but Lucia is like my little sister.

"You know, you don't have to act all tough around me Katniss..." she tells me after a moment of hesitation. I let out a breath of air. She knows me too well, but I've never cried in front of her. In front of anyone, really, besides Finnick.

I force a smile on my face. "I know, my little husky. I'm fine, jut a little shaken up from yesterday," I tell her, and it's not a complete lie. She nods in understanding, knowing that Snow took some of his anger out on me again. I can brave through the physical pain, but when he insults my every insecurity, I feel like I crack open a bit more. At first it was just a small hairline fracture. I tell myself that it doesn't grow, that I won't crack under his hate-filled looks that are always directed at me. I tell myself that those cracks will be pasted back together, and they do; but the paste eventually dries and gives away as well, and in the end, it just slows the process. I try not to think about the fact that my tough and guarded exterior will wear down over the time that I'm forced to stay here, because I'm not normally that depressing. I'm often depressed, but I don't let the others know or figure that out.

I glance back at her, only to find that she's already gotten up and is no longer in the room. She must have sensed that I needed to be left to my thoughts, but in reality, I actually need her, or anyone really, to be here with me. My thoughts lead me to bad places, which are often recreated in my nightmares. Deep down, I know that I'll never be able to only rely on myself. I'll always need my little husky, always need _someone_ that I trust to be there. For now, though, I refuse to accept it, because I'm the bastard president's daughter, and that always has a price. It's already a risk that he knows a hint at how much I care for Lucia, and I try to keep it under layers how close I am to my other friends. He wouldn't hesitate to kill them if I went against him majorly.

Shaking my head, I try to pull myself out of the thoughts that nobody knows I have, and focus on happier thoughts as I get ready for the day. I think about the day I decided to call Lucia 'my little husky'. A smile pulls at my lips as I remember explaining it to her. A few years back, I'd gotten my hands on a book about dogs that existed before the Capitol came to rule. I'd been flipping through it, fascinated that dogs could be so _small_ and how they could be so _hairy._ I stopped on a page about a dog named a 'husky', and fell in love with its gorgeous crystal blue eyes. It was the most breathtaking dog in the book, and I'd even saved the picture, reminiscing about what it might have been like to own such a pet. When I'd met Lucia, her blue eyes immediately reminded me of the wolf-like dog, thus her nickname was born.

Pulling my dark locks back, I start on my usual braid. I put some healing cream on the cut and bruise that have become evident on my cheek, and spread some more on the red marks that cover my biceps. Snow was particularly angry after I yelled at him for the millionth time about how wrong I thought the Games were. I look around quickly and dip a finger into the makeup cream they tell me is called concealer to hide my cuts and bruises. There are really only two people who know about how my dad truly is, and that's Lucia and Finn, and that's because they're the only ones who's seen the damage.

* * *

**-Six Years Earlier-**

I run down the hall, desperately willing the tears to stay down until I'm out of view. I cradle my throbbing wrist and only let go of it once I spot an open door, my blurred vision making me mistake it for my own door. I force it open and shut it behind me, letting my tears overflow out of the dam I put up as I slide down the door. Today was a bad day. I almost let out a hysterical laugh at how much of an understatement that was. I wasn't crying because of my bruises or the cut that is on my cheek once again thanks to dad's ring. While the pain of my broken wrist contributed to my sobs, it wasn't the cause of them. His words had been beyond painful. I'd of course always assumed he didn't love me, but hearing him say it along with the handful of insults he'd thrown my way with them cracked my heart beyond repair. I was only ten, I didn't know then that his words would make common reappearances in the years to come.

I hear a shuffling sound and my head shoots up from their resting area on my knees. I wipe my eyes with my good wrist, only to have them widen as I realize that this isn't my room at all. This is Finnick Odair's room.

At that, my eyes fall onto the man himself, and I quickly compose myself. Sniffling a few times, I begin to apologize.

"Oh, gosh, , I'm so sorry! I thought that this was my room, I- I wasn't seeing right. Oh, gosh, I'm- I'm so sorry. I guess I wasn't thinking, or seeing for that matter, clearly. Please," I hesitate before continuing with as much confidence as I can muster," Please, just don't tell my father about this? I'll be on my way out as fast as I can, I just-" I start rambling nervously as I think about the consequences that face me if he were to tell Snow. Oh, he would certainly insult me more- hell, if I'm lucky, I'll only end up with something as bad as a broken leg at most...

I look up at Finnick's stunned yet disgusted expression, and I get confused for a second. My eyes widen impossibly more when I realize that I'd just said that out loud. I open my mouth, trying to think of something to cover up what I'd just said, but my mouth just opens and closes like a fish out of water. Finally, I just say the first excuse that comes to mind.

"I... I'm just kidding. My daddy would never do something like that," I say lamely with a fake smile plastered on my face, which I'm sure looks crestfallen as he says, "You know, Katniss, you're a terrible liar."

I frown and reply with, "So I've been told by Snow."

It's his turn to frown. I clear my throat, and ask once again if he's going to tell my father, at which he cringes a bit as if it hurts him that I'd think he would. I can't help it though, at the age of ten, I'm thoroughly scared of my father even if I hide it the best I can.

"No, of course not, Katniss," he tells me, and for a moment I''m shocked he knows my name before remembering that I'm the prop my own father uses to sway the crowd into loving him. Apparently they think that because he has a daughter that he's instantly a great guy. And, as I chance a look from my bare feet to look at Finnick's face, I can tell he's never bought the act for a second.

"Can you just," he seems to think about his words carefully. "Could you tell me what happened? Please? I just always thought that you were just as coldblooded as your dad, no offense," he adds quickly. I give him a hollow smile, and just shake my head. "None taken," I tell him. "To be honest, he's a fucking prick," I say, my voice void of emotion. I've just said my first curse word- well, I suppose word_s_- out loud, and truthfully, it felt great that I was using them to describe my father. I've only ever used them before in extreme anger, and that was in my head. His eyebrows raise at my obscene language at such a young age, but his face grows into a grin and he starts to laugh. Slowly and cautiously, a small smile spreads to my face. I have a feeling I'll be good friends with this Finnick Odair.

His face turns serious as he asks me once again if I'll tell him the secret that I've kept for so long, and I give in with a resigning sigh. His eyes water as I tel him my story, about how my dad raped one of the women he plucked up from a district- Twelve, maybe- to get her pregnant with his child. How when I was born, he executed her, no longer needing his play toy, telling me that she died giving birth and that it had been my fault and that I had been a difficult baby. It wasn't until earlier that day that I'd found out the truth, resulting in my injuries both outside and in. I told him how my father had started physically abusing me since age five, but mentally since I could understand and fight him on what I thought was wrong- which was since I could talk. It was when I told him how long he's been abusing me that he started crying silent tears. I didn't tell him that I lost my first tooth at age six to my father's fist, or how I cried that night because I thought that the Tooth Fairy wouldn't come for a messed up kid like me. I thought this all silently in my head, and with each scarring memory came a new fracture in my heart and mind. He wrapped his arms around me, and I flinched shamefully. He just hugged me tighter, and I knew that he'd be the big brother I'd always longed for.

* * *

It isn't until around five in the evening that I actually see my father. I always greet him formally, as he does to me. It's another minuscule thing that makes my heart ache.

"Snow," I say in a monotone voice.

"Katniss," he replies back, seemingly bored. His cold blue eyes burn with hatred.

"Father, I've been thinking-"

"I'm sure you have _darling_," he says sarcastically. I roll my eyes and start again forcefully.

"_As I said,_ I've been thinking. The Reapings are in a week, but I think that something should be done about them. I think that you need to change what's going on, because I don't think it to be fair for those poor boys and girls to be worrying whether they- or someone they love- could die. It just isn't right," I tell him. This isn't the first time that I've said this to him, but this time I've just worded it differently, hoping to catch some appeal to the idea.

He sighs deeply and rubs his hand over the bridge of his nose, hiding his cold eyes, but not before fear strikes me and I see a flash of mischief cross them. What is he planning, I wonder fearfully. He glances at me and I hide my anxiety behind an impassive mask that I've perfected to keep my emotions from showing. I nod, and go to my room. I wish Finn was in the Capitol so that I could voice my concern about that scary flash I saw, but am grateful that he isn't, because that would mean he'd have to serve clients; that must be terrible for him- no, I know for a fact that it _is_ terrible for him. For the hundredth time today, a wave of guilt hits me, but this one hits me straight in the gut. Snow, of course, did this to him. He's done it to any and all attractive victors, and it makes me sick. After I've stripped of my clothes and changed into my nightgown, I slide into my spot next to Lucia and hold her in a protective hold as I try and stay awake for as long as I can, knowing my nightmares will haunt me tonight worse than the other ones. As I fall asleep, I can't get my father's icy, murderous glare out of my head, and wake up an hour later with sweat plastering my hair to my forehead and neck and Lucia holding back tears as she always does when I have my daily nightmares. I know that she feels that she can't do anything to help me, so I tell her that she helps me so much and is one of the only reasons I push to keep alive every day. This was a bad choice of wording, but honest, and she falls asleep to my singing voice. Sleep does not come to me until the sun rises outside of my window, though, and my throat is raw. It is then that exhaustion takes over my form, and I wonder how much easier it would be to just go away peacefully, how many people I truly would affect. In its fogginess, my brain floats to a dark place, wondering if a living my life the way it is would be any better than having no life at all. I push the thought away groggily and become determined not to fall down that path of darkness that lurks just beyond the only hope I hold onto.


	2. Sacrifices

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games...**

**Note: **Hey, sorry it's been so long since my last update! It's Thanksgiving Break right now, and I was updating one of my other stories, but I've decided that I've been neglecting my other ones long enough. Your guys' reviews give me the excitement I need to keep updating, so keep it up! Also, please check out my other story, _Dark Days Will Become Better_, if you haven't already! Nothing wrong with a little self-promoting... Anyways, here's the second chapter! Leave a review about what you think about this chapter!

~Burritoyum

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_**Chapter Two:** Sacrifices  
_

I wake from my sleep trembling and panting. I subconsciously grab at the spot on the bed next to me, looking for comfort, only to remember that Lucia has already gotten up to tend to her duties around the mansion. Her absence brings a familiar tug at my heart, reminding me that nobody is permanent in my life. I have nobody but Snow as a common reoccurrence, and that's _worse_ than nothing.

Looking at the too-expensive clock in on my mahogany bedside table, I see that I'd only gotten a total of three hours of sleep last night/this morning. I stretch, feeling exhausted. It's around seven o'clock.

I trudge over to my closet and pick out a dark green v-neck t-shirt and a random pair of jeans. Lacing up my old hunting boots I'd been given as a present by Haymitch a couple years back, I hear a throat clear. I startle, having been so far off in thought that I must have not heard anyone come in. I turn to find a man in- what I assume is a respective uniform- standing a bit uncomfortably by the door.

I nod at him, signaling for him to continue, and he does as ordered. "Miss, President Snow has asked for you," he tells me in a harsh tone, but I'm able to see right through his rough appearance. His badge says _Hayvee._

I narrow my eyes in thought, trying to remember where I'd heard the last name on his uniform. A light appears in my head as I recall meeting his wife, Camillia and his little girl Thalia. I give him a gentle smile, which seems to confuse him.

"Hayvee. Jacovar Hayvee?" I ask him quietly. He nods slowly. I give him a small smile. "I met your wife and daughter, back in District Eight? How is Thalia? You have an adorable daughter," I tell him genuinely. This cracks his stone-expression, and a smile crosses his face at the thought of his daughter.

"Very well, Miss. She's turning four in a week," he tells me proudly. "Camillia and I have been trying to save up for a nice doll. I've been working the double shift, but I'm sure it'll work out," he says a bit ashamed. I give a slight frown, and start to think.

"Jacovar, when is the next time you return to visit your family?"

"Tonight actually, ma'am," he responds, clearly unsure where this is going.

Without further consolation, I turn and scurry over to a basket in the corner of my room and open it, displaying a various collection of dolls and stuffed animals I've received over the years from Snow, when he tried persuading my love with expensive purchases. To say the least, he gave up about two years ago, when it became clear I'd known too much about his ways.

I gather a total of ten toys, five dolls and five stuffed animals, and put them in a plain bag as not to gather attention.

Turning back to wide-eyed Jacovar, I hand him the bag with a smile. He looks at the bag with shock, then back up to me. He tries to give the bag back to me, obviously thinking that this is a trap. Thinking that I am like my father, and would deceive him to get him killed. My eyebrows furrow slightly at that.

I look into his brown eyes earnestly, trying to get my point across. I push the bag back to him, holding eye contact.

"Jacovar, first of all, you can call me Katniss. Second of all, I know what you're thinking. I'm not like my father. I think that if I were in any sense, I wouldn't be wearing a t-shirt and jeans," I say with a small chuckle.

He finally accepts the bag, looking at it with awe. When his eyes flicker back to me, they're pooled with tears.

"Mi- Katniss- I, I don't know how to thank you. This is more than enough, though. Are you sure you don't want them? You should-" I cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. "I won't be missing those, trust me. I have plenty, but I've never been much of a doll person," I say sheepishly. "Snow, he tries- well, _tried_- to win my affection with expensive things. I just, I guess I never fell for it," I say as I go to open my curtains, letting daylight stream in. What I'm really doing is avoiding his eyes, so that he won't see the pain that remains in them. The pain that I shouldn't have after so many years.

I hear footsteps coming behind me, but I refuse to look back. I've already opened up to him more than I have to almost anyone since I met Finnick. Lucia only connected some of the dots, but I've never told her anything, fearful that she'd become worried over something as simple as me. Jacovar feels like he could be my brother, and I suppose that's why I feel so comfortable towards him in contrast to my normally quiet, somewhat hostile attitude.

I feel his hand touch my shoulder, and I flinch slightly. Underneath my t-shirt lies a fresh bruise. He stills, then turns me around. His eyes roam my face and arms, and I start to get confused by the surprised look on his face. Arching my eyebrow, I look at him challengingly. When his eyes catch mine, he blinks, and anger flickers through his eyes briefly.

"Katniss, do you have any- any makeup or anything?" he asks me with a low voice, gesturing to my arms and face. I look down at my arms, perplexed.

Then my eyes widen. I gulp, forgetting that I'd left the curtains closed for a reason. The bruises and cuts that are scattered down my arms are easily visible in the brightening daylight. I rush to the curtains to close them, though I already know the damage has been done. Once they're closed, I hurry over to a drawer that holds what probably looks like a limitless supply of makeup. Not caring what's for what, I spread whatever is the color of my skin over my arms until the bruises don't seem to have been there at all. With minuscule satisfaction, I go to the mirror, covering the bruises on my face with the same goop I'd put on my arms. Once finished, I look in the mirror, for once thankful of Capitol makeup.

Turning, I go back to the curtains to open them. Looking back at Jacovar, I put on a forced smile. "Erm- how do I look?" I ask sarcastically, hoping to eliminate a bit of the tension that's filled the room. He frowns, but nonetheless says,"You look like you do whenever I see you." I nod, thankful. One more thing to take care of, a big thing.

"Jacovar, you- you can't tell anyone about this, okay? If you even let it slip outside this room, you could be killed. Camillia and Thalia- they could die 'accidentally'. My father is a cruel man, and he has surveillance everywhere. I destroyed the cameras and microphones in here years ago, so you're safe, and so is your family. I want you to be careful. If you lost one of them, it would be horrible-" I start rambling nervously, trying to get the point across that what he just saw was _really_ dangerous. He puts his hand up and smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes.

"No problem, Katniss. I understand. I didn't know that he..." he lowers his voice in precaution,"abuses his own daughter, though. I just..." he trails off, but I understand. Jacovar is a man who works for the Capitol to keep his family from starving, but does not agree with their principles. Few people are recruited from the districts to work as Peacekeepers or officers for the Capitol, and when they do, they normally support the Capitol more than its brainless citizens. He understands the consequences well enough to know not to say anything.

I let out a breath of relief, and nod. He straightens his posture, putting his stone-like expression on. "I think that we're a little late.." he says, and I nod.

"If they ask, I was being troublesome," I tell him, not wanting him to get in trouble. "Also..." I say as I go to my desk, getting out a small sheet of paper and pen. "In case they want to know where you were authorized to bring that bag back to your home; here," I say handing him the paper.

"It has an explanation and my signature, just show it to anybody who asks. I think I'm on good terms with most of them, so they shouldn't question further. If they do, tell them to address me for confirmation."

He nods and slings the bag over his shoulder. "And, Javocar? I'll make sure you have Thalia's birthday off," I tell him. He looks at the door, and embraces me in a bear-hug. I awkwardly pat his back, not used to signs of affection from many people. He thanks me tremendously before clearing his throat and standing straight once again. In an authoritative voice, he says loudly, so as not raise suspicion, "Ma'am, if you do not so kindly follow me to your father, I will have to contact him and tell him of our problem."

Never much good at acting, I let out a perhaps overdone sigh and, "_Fine."_

He escorts me to my father's office as requested, and stands post outside the door. My emotionless expression matches that of Jacovar, as both of ours were worn before we exited my room.

I don't bother knocking as I enter his office, and Javocar enters with me, having to guard me in case I do anything 'irrational' in my father's office. He worships this office more than he does me. Clenching my jaw, I speak. "You requested for me, _father_," I say tersely. His eyes narrow for the shortest second, but grow along with the grin spreading his artificial face.

My eyes narrow in caution, confused by his look of happiness. There's only one reason for this.

My eyes scan the room, and my suspicions are confirmed. In the corner chair sits a somewhat short man with artificial white pale skin that shimmers in the light and artificial black hair styled high upon his head, matching his artificially black beard shaved in an unnatural pattern along his jaw line.

My eyes flicker back to Snow as his piercing eyes urge me to sit down. I sit, facing my father.

"Father, have you considered my proposal? Perhaps to end the Games?" I ask, admonishing myself for the hope that leaks through my voice. My eyes flicker to Ja- Hayvee- and I see surprise in his eyes, along with pride. I look back to my father, who saw our exchange. I quickly come up with something to say, hoping to justify the shared look.

"Father, do we have to have a _Peacekeeper_ in the room? I feel rather uncomfortable, seeing as they almost always follow you like headless chickens?" I say with a bit of venom in my voice. My father closes his eyes and rubs them tiredly, allowing me to shoot an apologetic glance at Hayvee, hoping he knows I don't mean to offend _him_. His nod is almost undetectable, but I see it.

I look back at my father before his hands raise from his eyes. "Yes, _darling. _It is necessary. You should know that," he tells me harshly, but the smile still splits across his plastic-injected lips.

"Mr. Crane, this is, as I'm sure you know, my daughter. Katniss, this is Seneca Crane, the head Gamemaker for this year's Hunger Games," he says, addressing the man in the corner. I give a forced smile to the man, knowing that he's even worse than the Capitol citizen who can't wait for the Hunger Games. He's the one who _designs_ the death trap.

"Nice to meat you, Mr. Crane," I tell him, offering my hand to him. He takes it and shakes it eagerly, obviously nervous in the presence of the president and his only daughter.

"It's an honor to meet your presence, your highness," he tells me, and I have to suppress a shiver from his death-cold hands. I force another smile, and tell him he can call me Katniss, and that I'm happy to meet him as well. I hope that my lying abilities have improved greatly, but judging from the look on my father's face, I'd say not.

I shift in my seat uncomfortably, but then remember I'm in my father's presence, and sit up straighter. I refuse to give him any benefits to this.

"So, _father_," I say sarcastically, trying to anger him. It works, and I see his left eye twitch beneath his snow white brow. I smirk.

"_Have_ you considered my proposal?" I continue. A sly smile passes his lips, leaving a bad feeling in my gut. This can't be good.

"Yes, actually, I have in fact thought about it. Now, you said that it wasn't fair that the children are all fearing for their lives, and those that they love. Did you not?" he says with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. I nod slowly, unsure where this is going.

"And you don't think it's fair that they're worrying about their lives when you just sit here in the Capitol, yes?" He says. It takes a moment for the shock to wear off before saying, "I didn't say-" I start, feeling fearful of where he's taking this.

"But! You implied it, isn't that right," he cuts me off forcefully, narrowing his eyes.

"I- I suppose," I pause, thinking.

"Well, I have talked to Mr. Crane here," he says, gesturing to a very discomforted Seneca Crane. I'd forgotten about him.

"And I've instructed him to put seven slips with your name on it in _each_ district bowl. It can be undone, as it was your wish," he says, smiling deviously. My eyes widen a fraction, and I begin to analyze my life. If I'm entered in seven times, multiplied by twelve, I'm entered a total of 86 times, could it be enough? Enough to stop at least one child from having to go into the Games?

Regaining my voice, I'm glad when my voice comes out strong and calm. "And if I'm drawn in more than one district, will a girl be excused from that district?" I ask.

He seems to contemplate this, before answering. "Perhaps... Yes. Let's say your name is pulled from District Six's bowl first, and then District Nine. You would enter as tribute for District Six, and there would be no female tribute to enter for District Nine."

Hope peaks at this, and determination sets in. My life being taken can possibly save another little girl's. I decide it's better than doing nothing.

"I'll do it. Enter my name in for a total of 86 slips. What happens if I volunteer?" I ask curiously. If my name is not drawn by the last district, I could at least have the chance of saving somebody.

"If you volunteer, then you will be tribute of the district you volunteer for, but can only volunteer if you are not chosen more than... twice. If you are chosen for three districts, you will be unable to volunteer. Pack your bags today, you will live in District Twelve for the remainder of the week. Peacekeeper Hayvee will escort you to your room and to your home in District Twelve from the Hovercraft. Goodbye, and may the odds be in your favor," he says without any real care.

"Goodbye, _Snow_," I sneer at him, knowing that our display will sit unwell with Mr. Crane.

I almost sprint out of the room, and Jacovar follows me. I shut the doors behind us as soon as Jacovar steps in, his emotionless face turning to one of concern.

"Katniss, are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks me. I forgot that we'd only met this morning, it feels like I've known him for years.

"Are you kidding me?" I ask while rushing to gather a plain forest green bag from my closet to gather my things in. "It's a great idea! Don't you see? By agreeing to this, I'm going to save other children's' lives! I'm determined to save them, Jacovar. I've gotta do something," I say enthusiastically.

"Katniss, you're too good for this world," he says shaking his head sadly. "What about if you do get chosen?" he asks me.

"That's the point," I say, "Even if I'm not picked in a district, I'd volunteer in District Twelve. That way, I'd at least be making _some_ difference..." I trail off.

"What if you die?" he says harshly. "You're going to have to _try_ to win! I know you don't want to, but you've got to!" he says, almost pleadingly. _  
_

"Katniss, I've known you for only a few hours, but you feel like a little sister to me! Even if we barely know each other, I'll never forgive myself if I didn't stop you!" he says, having trouble to keep his voice down.

"Jacovar," I say gently. "I _will_ try in the Games, I won't just step off of the platform and kill myself. I'm going to fight for the good ones first. I hate the fact that I'm going to have to kill, but- I can't let someone from District One or Two win. I can't stand by and watch them _enjoy_ killing the innocent. I'm going to fight for what's right," I tell him confidently, zipping my bag up. I motion for him to be quiet as we prepare to leave my room.

"Jacovar, in the hovercraft, we can not talk, not like we would in here. My father has cameras, has microphones. Hovercrafts are no different, and you'd be dead in a minute if he found out you developed a friendship with the daughter he despises. Will you tell Lucia that I left her a note and package in the secret compartment? She'll know what I'm talking about," I say, imagining the small, two-by-two square door behind our bed frame. "She's resourceful, so she won't trust you at first. Tell her I said she'll always be my little husky, and she'll know you're true." He nods, taking every word to heart.

"Katniss, you are the most selfless person I know, and I hope I'll see you before going into the Games. It's been an honor knowing you," he tells me. I give him a genuine smile and hug.

We separate, give each other a nod, and I open my door, Jacovar behind me, as we make our way to the hovercraft that waits for us.

. . . . .

Each mile away from the Mansion and closer to District Twelve, I can't help but feel safer, like I'm going to my real home. I've read about it in books my father doesn't know I have. Books that I brought with me, and have had since I was a little girl. Of all the districts, District Twelve intrigues me the most. It has an expanse of trees that are bordered off by an electrified fence, which Haymitch tells me hasn't worked in years. Ever since I met Haymitch- when I was about three- I took interest in forests. I started carving bows and arrows, which I always gave to him as gifts. The last time I saw him, he told me I'd love it there. Haymitch has always been like a father to me, a _real_ father; even if he is a drunk. We're both extremely stubborn, and he has a good heart beneath the guarded exterior I was able to make by way under, and he's been able to wiggle his way under mine as well.

The hovercraft shutters and rocks, and I look to the pilot questioningly. I think his name is Akakios.

"We're just landing, Miss," he tells me, and I nod in response, already excitedly unbuckling my seatbelt. I nod goodbye to Jacovar, and he nods back. It's an innocent gesture, and will not look strange on camera.

I bolt out of the hovercraft, and start running towards what I know as Victor Village, where Haymitch lives. I smirk and push further, until I'm on Haymitch's dirty porch. I haven't seen him in almost a year, and- although this may seem strange- crave his grumpy attitude. I know he's debugged his house, so I knock on his door rapidly, but don't get an answer.

Shrugging, I try the door and find it unlocked. As soon as I step in, I gag. The smell is beyond terrible. Coughing and pinching my nose, I rub my now stinging eyes with my spare hand, and try to navigate through the piles of clothes and bottles and who-knows-what that litters the floor.

I walk into what I assume to be the kitchen, and find him passed out face-down on the floor. "Haymitch," I mutter angrily. After having to wake him up in the Capitol, I've learned two things. One: cold water is the best solution, and two: Stay back, because he sleeps with a knife. I walk over to the cabinets and search them for a mug. I come up successful and fill it with ice-cold water from his expensive faucet. Making my way to him, I stand back and thrust the mug forwards, spilling its contents over his greasy head.

The moment the water makes contact with his head, he jumps up yelling, and pointing the knife at me. I expertly disarm him, and place it on the counter closest to me.

"Sweetheart!" he cheers sarcastically when he sees me. I scowl and roll my eyes at the nickname he's given me. "Nice to see you too," I mumble, though I'm actually very happy to see him.

"I've missed you," he tells me genuinely, and I'm taken aback by his words. Haymitch and I don't really ever say or do anything that affectionate, besides awkward hugs when it's time for him to leave. I decide to be sincere as well. "I've missed you too, Haymitch, but I'm not hugging you when you're covered in... Is that vomit?" I ask him disgusted.

He rolls his eyes at me. "What _are_ you doing here?" he asks accusingly. I look to him confused for a moment, then realizing he must not have been told about the arrangement.

"Haymitch, Snow offered me something," I tell him, noting the nervousness that flashes in his eyes quickly. Taking a deep breath, I give a small smile,"You see, he told me that it was my choice. I could have my name entered in each district seven times, or I could allow the Games to continue as they were," I say, trying to think about how to get my situation out in words. I've never been good with words.

His eyes widen. "You chose the latter, didn't you?" he asks, almost as if he's trying to convince himself of that. I shake my head, and anger along with fear erupts behind his eyes.

"Why would you do that?" he yells at me. "Do you know how utterly _stupid_ that is? You're dead. Did you _want _to take place in the magnificent Hunger Games? Couldn't get enough excitement out of pretending to play it like all your little Capitol friends?" he shouts, and a new piece cracks in me. Would he seriously think that I want to enter the Hunger Games for a _rush? _That's beyond disgusting. My face contorts in anger, angry that he would even so much as think something like that.

"Haymitch! Do you _honestly_ think, from all the years that I've despised the Games, that I would do this for some sort of a.. a... _sick satisfaction?_ I thought you knew me better than that! I've hated the Capitol all my life, and I fucking _live_ there!" I'm screaming at him, and his anger is slowly retreating into remorse, but I'm not done.

"You didn't even give me a chance to explain! I'm doing this for other people!" I say, trying to calm myself down. "I- This decision, it could save lives. It's not much, but it's a start. If I do this- I- Ugh!" I get frustrated, unable to explain out loud what this means.

"The thing is, let's say my name is first chosen in District Five, okay? But my name is in _every district's_ bowls, so I can be chosen more than once. So, let's say that even though my name was chosen in District Five, my name was chosen in Districts Seven and Nine. I would enter as a tribute of District Five, but because I was chosen for Seven and Nine, they don't need to send in another tribute. There would be _no female tributes_ from them. None. I'd be saving two little girls from the horrors of the games. I know it's not much," I start to say, thinking he'll still think it's a ridiculous plan," but it's something. It's a step forwards."

I look up at him, and his face is one with pride and sorrow. "Haymitch, you've got to understand. You know what goes on at the mansion. Nobody would care if I died, they would act like it, but it's not like they'll dwell on it," I tell him, and he snorts.

"Sweetheart," he says,"you're not as invisible as you think. Finnick would miss you, that little girl, Lucia or Lucy or whatever, she'd miss you. I'd just drink it away, but you make an imprint on people," he says wisely, and I know that he's saying he'd miss me too. I begin feeling uncomfortable with all this affection that's been displayed. We're not people who normally express our emotions unless it's someone we love.

"Now," he says gruffly, trying to make things less "fluffy" as he'd probably call it. "What exactly is your plan?" he asks, and I can tell he think's I'm just going to kill myself as soon as the platform raises. I tell him what I'd told Javocar earlier.

"Haymitch, I'm not going to just step off of the platform and kill myself. I'm going to fight for others. I hate the fact that I'm going to have to kill, but- I can't let someone from District One or Two win. I can't stand by and watch them _enjoy_ killing the innocent. I'm going to fight for what's right, for the people who _deserve_ to win..." I trail off. He nods, though still looking conflicted. He tips back his bottle, bringing an end to our serious conversation.

"Er- Haymitch? Do you know the Everdeens? I'm supposed to be staying with them until Reaping day." His head snaps to me when I say 'Everdeens'. I furrow my eyebrows. "What?" I ask him, but he shakes his head.

"It's not something I should be telling you. Yeah, I'll take you over to them, used to know the husband. He used to be one of my buddies..." he trails off with a far away look in his eyes.

I walk over to my bag, and he comes out of his trance. Stumbling, he makes his way to the door, motioning for me to follow. I do so wordlessly.

. . . . .

The Everdeen's house is a small, almost shack-like structure, but it feels more like a home than anywhere I've ever been.

"It's strange," I say quietly to Haymitch, who stands at my side, raising his hand to knock on the door. "This feels more like my home than anywhere I've ever been before."

His fist pauses its knocking, but he regains his posture staying silent.

We hear light footprints approach from inside, and a little girl who can't be older than twelve answers. My heart just about melts when she beams at us and pulls us in by our wrists. I take note of her sun-kissed bright blonde hair and charming blue eyes.

"Please come in, I'll get my mother!" she tells us, her eyes lingering joyfully on me. I smile, but a crease forms between my brows when she leaves the room. I look questioningly at Haymitch, but he keeps his gaze focussed on the doorway the little girl disappeared through.

A minute later, she comes in with an old looking book in one hand and an older version of her in the other. The woman looks at me and tears begin spilling from her light blue eyes.

"Katniss?" she asks in a wavering voice. I nod slowly; I thought that nobody had been informed of my arrival, as it was a fast decision. She begins crying and hugs me tightly. I hug her back, majorly confused now.

"Uh, I'm sorry," I say awkwardly," but do I- do I know you?" I ask hesitantly. The woman pulls away and nods frantically with tears in her eyes. "Prim, will you bring that book over here?" she asks the little girl, who nods and walks over.

Handing her mom the book, Prim looks at me with tears in her eyes. I feel like I've seen these people before, but can't seem to place their faces. The woman opens the book and goes through the pages filled with pictures in search for what I assume to be a specific one.

She stops on a page and hands it to me, showing me a colored picture of a small baby with a tuft of hair and grey eyes. My eyes widen as I realize this is the picture in my room, the one my father said was painted of me before my mother 'died'.

"How- how did you get this?" I ask her with a quavering voice. Haymitch excuses himself, saying it's time for him to leave. I give him a quick goodbye before returning my attention to the woman imploringly.

"I- I can't tell you that. It's something that you have to figure out. We've been informed of your situation by a man named... Hayvee? He told us with high respect for you what you're doing. I have no words to express how proud Prim and I are of you, and are extremely honored we are to be hosting you for the next five days." I nod, a little embarrassed that I'd forgotten to ask for her name.

"Erm- what can I call you? I'm sorry, I never caught your name," I say with difficulty, but she just smiles warmly and says, "You can just call me Mom." My heart warms as I think about that. It'd be nice to have someone to call mom. I smile genuinely at the two blondes.

"It's getting late," Prim says, "I'm sure you're tired from the trip. You can sleep in my bed, if you want, we only have two- one for me and Momma. But, of course, I could sleep on the couch, or we could work something out," she adds on the last part hastily, not wanting to push me. I give her an assuring smile.

"I can sleep in your bed, if you don't mind." She beams at me and I smile back, unable to help myself. Prim reminds me of Lucia, sweet, innocent, and full of love. She runs ahead of me and I let out an easy laugh as I see her shirt untucked liked a duck tail.

"Tuck in your tail, Little Duck!" I tease her, and she giggles before sticking her tongue out at me and saying, "Quack!" I chuckle and climb into bed once I've changed. As I'm drifting to sleep, I feel the bed dip slightly next to me.

"Goodnight, Katniss," Prim's sweet voice says.

"Goodnight, Prim," I say back tiredly.

"Katniss? I think you'd be a good big sister," she tells me as I wrap my arms protectively around her.

"Thank you, Little Duck. I think you already make an amazing little sister," I tell her, liking the sound of it.

Her breathing slows, and I know that she's asleep. Her steady breathing lulls me into the first dreamless sleep I've had in three years.

* * *

**Hey! So, I kinda feel like the ending of this chapter got a little dull, but... What do you think? Leave a review, please, and thanks to those who already have. Also, don't worry, Peeta will be coming in soon, if you haven't already assumed so! Woohoo, right! Haha, but please tell me your thoughts on this chapter! Also don't forget to check out my story, _Dark Days Will Become Better! _I've just updated it today!**

**~Burritoyum**


	3. AN on Future Chapters

**Hey! I know! This isn't a chapter, and I'm sorry! But, before you bum out and leave, I need your guys' opinions on something. **

**So, for when the characters actually go into the arena, I was thinking I'd do a completely original arena, where I would come up with almost everything as far as the arena's looks and design and surprises, with a bit of the things from the first book. **

**I know that there aren't a lot of completely ****_original_**** arenas out there, and I think that it could be a really cool challenge, and it would keep you guys on your seats (well, those that read the books) because you won't know what's going to happen next.**

**So, what do you guys think? I mean, obviously if there's a ton of people against it, then I'll do my best to avoid that type of thing, BUT I will most likely do this, as I feel like I'd enjoy this sort of challenge.**

**I know it'd be worth it, but I want your thoughts on it.**

**A.K.A; PM me or leave a message in the reviews for me, I read all of them, so I'll see it! **

**Thank you for being so patient with this, love you all! And ****_yes_****, Peeta and Katniss will have a moment together pretty soon, I plan on it!**

**~Burritoyum**


	4. Never Safe

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games**

**So, if you've seen my other stories, you know I'm going to start laying things out differently, hopefully in a way that's more organized to you guys.**

**So, I will:**

***Be putting an ORIGINAL song/poem in the beginning (tell me your thoughts on that!)**

***A/N will be at the end of the chapter**

***Be adding PREVIEWS TO THE NEXT CHAPTERS**

***Possibly include reviews that made my day from the previous chapter**

**Please leave some reviews, and check out my newest HG fanfic _A Different Reality._ **

**Leave Reviews! ;)**

* * *

_I sleep another terror filled night away_

_I live a meaningless life these days_

_I wish upon a shooting star_

_But it never seems to go so far_

_I sail upon the open shore_

_But alas _

_The crashing waves leave me wanting more_

_I walk the streets,_

_Searching for light_

_Hoping to flee_

_This long and dreary night_

_But alas _

_The moon will not shine._

_This body does not feel like mine._

_I walk aimlessly _

_Out to the sea_

_Where at last I might_

_Find the peace in the blinding light._

* * *

**_Chapter Three: Never Safe_**

The week goes by too fast, but I have yet to regret any choices that I have made; even if it means leaving Prim behind.

If anything, spending time with her seems to make my will stronger. Knowing that one day she could be another innocent sent off to their death; it's not easily something that I can let go of.

Even though I don't plan on winning, I want to make a difference. I want people to know that standing up even a little can make a difference. I want the people of the Capitol to know how corrupt their leader can be.

I don't want revenge. No, that would require me to hate my father for the things he does to me. I hate him for what he does to his people. I'm strong enough to take the beatings, but these people are so fragile, so... hopeful. Innocent.

These people, they do not deserve such cruelty.

"Katniss?" Prim asks with a hint of worry. I blink and look down at her apologetically.

"Sorry, Prim. I must have gotten lost in my thoughts," I say, looking around at the abundance of Peacekeepers that patrol the District.

Today is the day of the Reaping. I look back at Prim and see the look of fright cross her face, and I soften my expression, pulling her towards me into a hug.

"Don't worry, Prim. Your name is only in there once," I try to comfort her. I'm about to tell her that she shouldn't worry anyways, that I would take her place in a heartbeat if she were, but I hold back, knowing that she needs to let this out.

"I know, but- If I do get picked, will you take care of mom?" she asks, her voice tight from holding back tears. "Since Dad died, she's never been the same. And, even though I know that you hate him, will you feed Buttercup? Please? I don't want to die, but I think that if I did, I would feel better knowing that they're alright.." she trails off, taking in a deep breath.

I furrow my brows at her. "Prim, what did your mom say about the reason I was here? And my plans?"

Surely she knows about my name in the bowls? She should know that I would volunteer for any female tribute either way. How much did her mother tell her?

"Well, Mom said that some things would be too hard for me to understand. She told me that your name is in our district's bowl seven times, and in the other district bowls seven times," she responds, and my suspicions are confirmed. Her mom wanted to shield her from the absolute possibility that I'm going into the arena one way or another.

I bite my tongue and nod slightly. "We should be getting home soon," I tell her. The Reaping starts at one, which gives us a little over two hours to get home and cleaned up.

She gives me a pleading look. "Can we stop by the bakery first? That's the only place you haven't been yet!" She practically whines, widening her eyes a fraction amount, knowing that I can't say no to them.

I cave in, and she skips in the direction of the bakery while pulling my hand, dragging me along while I laugh at her eagerness.

She stops in front of the display window, smiling widely as she looks through the assortments of pastries that decorate the tables behind the glass.

I put my arm around her shoulder, and point in the general direction of the food.

"You can get any of them. All of them, if you want," I tell her, glancing sideways.

Her eyes widen comically, and a disbelieving gasp escapes.

"What? No, Katniss, I can't let you do that. It would be so expensive- too expensive. I-"

"Prim, I have more money than I'd ever need. Pick out any of them, I don't mind," I tell her, unable to surpress the grin that spreads my face.

I'm suddenly tackled to the ground in a flurry of blonde hair. I begin laughing again, trying to keep this memory in my mind. I know that I'll need it soon.

"Thank you so much, Katniss! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she squeals sincerely before jumping off of me so that I can pick myself off of the ground.

Warmth fills me as I look at her happy appearance.

She looks so amazed, and I'm glad that she can be so joyed, if only for a little while.

**. . . . . . .**

The boy sits quietly at the counter in his family's bakery, anxiousness filling him every second he's able to think about what could happen.

_You only have five slips, Mellark,_ he thinks to himself over and over, trying to find comfort in this small chant.

It doesn't work. An unknown sense of dread fills his gut, churning and twisting uncomfortably.

He can't help but believe that something bad is going to happen today...

Something catches his eye, and his gaze falls to the window in front of the table that displays the most delectable treats of the store.

It is not the treats, though, that catch his eye, but a small blonde haired girl that skips with a large grin on her face towards the window.

He smiles, knowing this little girl. _Primrose_, he thinks her name is.

She will often stop by the window to look in at the treats.

_She's a sweet little girl. Maybe the nicest in the district, besides maybe Delly Cartwright._

He looks back to the girl, his breath catching as he sees the girl trailing behind Primrose, who seems to be about his age.

His eyes roam over her, enthralled by the beauty of the girl.

The other girls in Town are not like this one. While they all cake their pale faces with makeup in hope to find beauty, this girl wears no makeup- yet she, to the boy, is what one would think of as the definition of such a thing.

Her long hair is pleated back in a dark braid that swings down her back, whisps of loose hair framing her olive-toned face.

He can't see her eyes yet, but judging by her dark hair, he would assume them to be a dark grey, as the other Seam inhabitants.

_But why,_ he ponders, _would I not have seen her around the school? _District Twelve had only one school, and everybody within it knew who one another was- even if they didn't talk.

_And_, he adds disgusted at this particular thought,_ I'm sure most of the guys would have talked about her looks._

Turning his attention back to the girl, he notices how gentle and loving she is towards little Primrose. She talks to the younger girl, pointing in the direction of the pastries and cakes that top the table with a grin that, he finds, makes the mysterious girl look even more stunning.

The blonde turns to her with widened eyes and begins to shake her head, and he wishes that he knew what was said between the two. Was it bad or good, happy or sad?

He realizes how creepy he must seem, but decides that he doesn't care. This girl makes his heart flutter in a way it never has with any of the other girls he's dated at school. Is this love? He quickly pushes away the thought, feeling silly for such conclusions.

He won't admit it yet, but he knows deep down, that he will never feel this way with any other girl.

He continues to watch the exchange.

The dark haired girl nods her head, her grin widening, and all of a sudden, Primrose tackles her.

He stands abruptly from his stool, worried that a fight has broken out between the two. Then he sees that the older girl embraces the other with a smile, and hears Primrose squeal, "Thank you so much, Katniss! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He smiles, and sits back on his stool.

"Katniss," he says aloud, making sure to keep a low voice so his brothers don't have something to tease him about in the future.

He decides that it's a nice name, and he hopes to talk to the girl sometime.

The two girls walk in, Prim with a grin, but Katniss' has been reduced to a small smile.

He looks down to wipe his fidgeting hands on his apron before looking back up.

He is left speechless as his sapphire eyes meet the grey orbs of the dark girl.

They are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen, he thinks. These are by far the most captivating features of this girl. It seems as if the moonlight has been placed in ponds of melted silver, giving her a mysterious look.

The air feels as if it is charged when their gazes connect.

The girl's eyes dart down quickly, the smile taken from her face and instead replaced with an emotionless expression.

The boy is confused, yet nonetheless recovers quickly as he takes thier order.

He has to contain his disbelief as they order almost half of the display case, and even more so when the quiet girl pays for it all with polished coins.

The two leave quickly, and he lets out a breath before running up the stairs to retrieve his sketchbook.

He never wants to forget this girl, yet he feels like he's seen her before.

**. . . . . . .**

Prim and I get to our house with around an hour to get ready and walk down to the town square.

As much as she teases me about our encounter with the baker, my mood just continues dampens. I keep thinking about how she will react when I have to go into the Games.

Will she be okay? Even though it's only been six days, I feel like she's my little sister. I feel like she's one of the many pieces missing from my life, and I've realized that I will miss her. A lot.

And I hate that.

I hate getting attached to people, because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that love can be used as leverage against you.

At the age of eight, my father strapped me to a chair and forced me to watch a woman that had learned to care for me be turned into an avox.

I remember crying and screaming, begging for him to stop. I kicked him whenever he came within distance of my feet. I bit and scratched any part of a Peacekeeper that I could. Eventually, he gave me a drug that paralyzed me for just the right amount of time needed for me to sit still and watch, unable to do anything but whimper and cry as I listened to the tortured screams of a woman that was like a mother to me.

I don't realize that I'm crying until Prim's small hand touches my cheek.

I quickly rid my eyes of tears and breathe in deeply through my nose, before shaking my head back and forth as if to clear them of thoughts. I avoid her questioning eyes as I walk past her and out of our room and to the tub of warm water that - Mom - had made for me.

After unclothing myself, I purposefully avoid the cracked mirror so that I won't have to catch sight of the scars that stand out among my exposed body.

I step into the warm water, sighing as my tense muscles relax. I scrub the dirt from my arms and legs, pretending I don't see the bruises that have yet to fade, the scars that map down my outer thigh from when I was pushed into broken glass last year.

Instead, I begin thinking about my game plan.

As far as I know, there has only been two other districts that have called my name. Each Reaping is held at different times, sometimes different days for the districts favored by the Capitol- One and Two specifically.

Getting out of the tub to dry myself, I try and decide how I will approach my volunteering. I will have to look calm, strong, intimidating... I can't look weak, or else I won't be able to help out the ones who do.

Yes. I have to look controlled.

I hear my name called softly from behind me, and I startle from my thoughts, glancing behind me and seeing Mom.

She hands a light blue dress and matching shoes to me with a nostalgic look on her face.

"Here, you can wear this. They were mine from when I lived in the town," she says, tears pricking at her eyes.

"Are you sure?" I ask her, still getting used to this sort of thing- receiving gifts. I've always been so used to denying my father's expensive things, that I've never really said yes to them, and especially not sentimental things.

She nods. "I'm sure. I want to thank you. For what you're doing, what you've already done... I appreciate that you didn't tell Prim what's going on. I just think it would be too hard for her to handle at her age."

I say a quiet, but sincere, thank you. I've never had so many gestures of affection from others besides Prim and Lucia. Sometimes Finnick will give me a hug or kiss on the cheek as a goodbye when he visited, but I'd never thought twice about it.

"I could help you with your hair, too, if you'd like. I think it'd be nice if it were put up," she tells me, and I nod politely.

She turns around so that I can dress, and I admire the way the soft material feels against my skin. I've never found the Capitol fashion to be pretty, or more importantly, comfortable. This dress- though I still feel more exposed than I'm used to- feels nice. It feels homey.

Mrs. E- Mom, comes over to me and begins to braid my hair up on my head.

This time, I do look in the mirror, but what I see is not who I am.

The girl in the mirror, she is beautiful. She is strong, brave, free. It can't be me.

I see Prim come up behind me in the reflection.

"You look beautiful," she says to me quietly.

I turn and give her a small hug.

"I don't look anything like myself," I tell her with a small snort.

She shakes her head as if she knew something I didn't, and I raise a brow at her.

"She _does_ look like you. She _is_ you, Katniss. Half the boys in the district look at you with their tongues hanging out when we passed by them!" she says.

I just nod, waiting for her to turn away so that I can roll my eyes. Not once have I ever cared about how I look to others, and I won't start now.

When bruises would show on my face, the makeup was so that nobody would see them. Not because I was ashamed- though I was, for not being able to stand up for myself - but because if they had knowledge of what happened, and my father got word that they knew what happened... would happen. Things that could have been prevented, and that I could have stopped from happening.

So many things already happen because of me. There's been so much pain inflicted on people just for my very existence, and the guilt wears away layers of confidence. Layers of mentality have been taken from me, and I know it.

Once in a while, I'll just shut down. Normally when I'm in the worst of the punishments...

I'm taken out of my dark thoughts by the sound of a sniffle. My vision refocuses and I find myself looking in the mirror at myself surrounded by a crying Prim and Mom with a worried expression worn on her face.

My eyebrows furrow. "What is it?" I command, baffled by their expressions.

"You spaced out for at least five minutes. Do you remember anything?" I shake my head.

"I must have gotten lost in my thoughts again. I have a lot on my mind, it's nothing big," I tell them waving it off. It's not a lie, but it's not necessarily the whole truth...

They shoot me suspicious looks, but otherwise stay silent.

I shift in my seat, unsure what to do.

"How much longer?" I ask, wondering if we'll have enough time to eat before we have to walk down.

"We still have about twenty minutes," Mom says with a glance at the clock on the back wall. I nod and stand up, walking out the small room and into the area designated as a living, dining, and cooking space.

We sit at the small table and eat some of the bread that we'd bought from the bakery earlier in an uncomfortable silence.

The anxious feelings, the sorrow, the worry; they weigh us down and leave no room for conversation. No reassurances are said, no hugs. That would make all of it final, in a way. A final goodbye.

I suppose that's just what it is for me, though. I push the reality out of my thoughts, hoping to delay the inevitable if only for a little.

I look up from my bread and scan Prim. As I see her puffy eyes and hear her pitiful sniffles, I start to doubt my choice for the first time. Was this really as rash as Haymitch had made it out to be? Was this a bad idea?

No. No, it can't be. Their lives are much more important than mine. I will do everything in my power to help them, anything that can be done, because the people that I'm fighting for- they deserve a chance, even if it means living the priced life of a victor.

At one o'clock, we head for the town square, a sullen mood hanging over us.

Peacekeepers seem to be everywhere, enforcing that nobody misbehaves. Before Prim and I check in, I pull her to the side and crouch down to her level.

"Listen, Prim. No matter what happens, you have to be okay. I love you, you're the best little sister I could've asked for. I know that it's only been six weeks, but I feel like I've known you for years. You need to be strong in case anything does happen, okay?" I tell her, trying not to say too much. She gives me a strange look, but nods and pulls me to her.

"I love you too, Katniss. You've been- oh just the best person to know. You're a great big sister. Actually, that's something I wanted to tell you," she begins as she pulls away, looking at me with serious eyes. "When you-"

"Excuse me," a gruff voice says from behind me, and Prim's eyes go wide as she looks over my shoulder. I harden my expression before standing from my crouching position and turning to the voice.

A Peacekeeper looks at us with narrowed eyes. "You two have had long enough. Get along," he says harshly and gives me a shove for extra measure. I stumble forwards a little, but recover quickly to shoot an apologetic look to Prim. She nods tearfully and falls in behind me in the sign in line. _Can't miss any lab rats_, I think to myself sarcastically. I know for a fact what happens if you're not present at the Reaping - and it isn't something to try. In the years past, I've had to witness some of the tortures that take place because of attempted skipping.

I shiver, and step forwards in line, finding myself in front of a woman in a Peacekeeper's suit.

"Name," she says in a monotone voice.

"Katniss Snow," I say back in the same tone, standing straight.

"Look kid," she starts, clearly annoyed. "This ain't some joke. I can arrest you r-" the word dies on her lips as she finally glances up at me, her angry eyes turning wide with newly found fear.

"Katniss. Snow." I say again, raising a brow in attempt of intimidation.

"You're clear ma'am," she says promptly, and I nod before walking ahead. I turn back as Prim looks to me, and give her a reassuring thumbs up. She gives a small smile before returning her attention to the unpleasant Peacekeeper, who has visibly shrunken from her encounter with me.

_Please,_ I think, _like I'd have the cruelty to report you for doing your job- even if you're doing so rudely._ Then it hits me; that _is_ what she thought. She doesn't know me and I don't know her. The only thing she knows about me is that I'm President Snow's daughter, so of course she'd assume I'm just like him.

The thought causes me to frown, and I step forwards, now lost among a sea of other sixteen year old girls. I look around for Prim, hoping to give her one more glance of encouragement, but I know that she, too, is lost among other girls of her age.

The mic screeches to life with an unbearable noise, making most plug their ears. All attention is brought to the stage ahead, where Mayor Undersee takes place lecturing about the history of Panem and how the Hunger Games came to be.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snorting. I'm sure they all know this Capitol-written speech about just how _magnificent_ the President is. I have to strain myself from rolling my eyes.

What's the point of this speech, if everybody knows how untrue each and every word is?

It's not long before Effie Trinket, whom I know personally due to many parties held at the mansion for anyone and everyone related to the Hunger Games.

To say the least, I tend to stay in my room until forced to "mingle" with the others.

Today she's wearing what I'm sure must be the new Capitol couture, her skin dyed an unnatural tone of white, making her fluorescent pink wig seem even more out of place than the hot pink of her pink-pearl encrusted suit. She walks to the stage, and I have to give credit to her; if someone can walk in those death traps she calls shoes, then they must have great balance.

She clears her throat before tapping the microphone twice with her index finger, starting out with her signature shrill of, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

Her ridiculous Capitol accent makes her appearance even more laughable as she makes her way to the girl's bowl. I glance around, standing on my tip toes before finding Prim's gaze lock to mine. I mouth the words, 'It's going to be okay,' before gulping and turning back to Effie.

The truth is that I'm nervous, myself. Beyond nervous for the thing I'm about to do, because a district that's been as effected by my father's cruelty can't be anything but hostile towards the daughter of that said man. They have every right to hate me.

Effie swirls her hand dramatically around the bowl with her left hand before diving it into its center, mixing the slips of paper before choosing one and pulling it out.

The air is removed from my lungs, and my words die on my lips, unsuspecting of the name pulled.

My thoughts are scrambled as I absorb what's just gone on.

Effie pulled a slip out, and it wasn't me, but the relief doesn't come, and panic washes over me as I forget my train of thought. The name wasn't anything like I had expected.

_Primrose Everdeen._

* * *

**Note:** I apologize for the late update, I had forgotten to post this earlier- but is had been finished before today... but it's still here, and that matters, right? So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as I always enjoy writing all of them. I read each review, so leave me more

_Preview to Chapter Four_

This wasn't supposed to happen. Her name wasn't supposed to be picked.

I watch, paralyzed, as she slowly walks down the path that has suddenly cleared before her, flanked by Peacekeepers.

My senses come rushing back to me as I see one jerk her arm violently.

Her name escapes my lips hoarsely, and a few girls turn in my direction. I ignore them, calling louder. I will go on, I have to go on.

There's no looking back, no going back now.

**Leave reviews for the next chapter!**

**Love you guys, as always.**

**~Burritoyum**


	5. Unplanned Plans

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favorited so far!**

* * *

_A pin could drop_

_Yet, no, not really_

_Because time has frozen._

_Moves like an old movie._

_My mind's functions_

_Come to a stop_

_I cannot breathe, can't think, can't talk._

_It was not supposed to be you,_

_Who's much too innocent,_

_Too true_

_To have to witness_

_The horrors of this world_

_That is no longer bright, _

_But has become a hazed blue._

* * *

**_Chapter Four: Unplanned Plans_**

_Primrose Everdeen._

This wasn't supposed to happen. Her name wasn't supposed to be picked.

I watch, paralyzed, as she slowly walks down the path that has suddenly cleared before her, flanked by Peacekeepers.

My senses come rushing back to me as I see one jerk her arm violently.

Her name escapes my lips hoarsely, and a few girls turn in my direction. I ignore them, calling louder. I will go on, I have to go on.

There's no looking back, no going back now.

"Prim! Prim!" I push my way through the frozen crowd, as they watch me rush desperately to her side, halting her journey to the stage.

I step in front of her, as if I could protect her. And I suppose that this _is _protecting her.

Still a bit dazed, I say two words quietly, as if there is no air left in my lungs to escape, then stand taller, shouting them as the Peacekeepers attempt to bring her further forwards.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I yell out breathlessly. I hear Prim's cries and screams, her begs for me to stay. I tune it out, determined to loosen my hold on any emotion and expression I still wear. I harden my expression as I feel her being removed from her death-grip on me, but I don't look back. If I look back, I know that I'll break.

I hear Effie's high voice bubble with excitement. "A volunteer! Come, come!"

I walk between the Peacekeepers up to the stage, my feet numb. I did not think that this would be what it felt like to volunteer for my death.

Not in a lifetime- which may now be shortened- would I take it back, though.

I take place next to Effie, and her eyes widen discreetly as she sees me up close. She opens her mouth once, then twice, before words manage their way out clumsily. "D-District 12's first volunteer in decades! What is your name, young lady?" she asks me, her hand trembling slightly. She does remember me, she might remember our limited, but polite, conversations from earlier years. She looks at me, and a look of sorrow flashes through her eyes. Does she remember the little six year-old I was when I first met her? Does she remember the picture I drew her when I was seven?

I gulp, pleased as my voice comes out strong. "Katniss. Katniss Snow."

Gasps and mumbles are heard throughout the audience as they take this in. No doubt they've seen me on T.V. in previous years, but I refused to take any part of Capitol advertising when I turned twelve.

"Well, let's give a round of applause for Ms. Katniss Snow!" Effie trills uneasily, nervousness palpable in her voice.

I await for the claps and celebrations of the president's daughter being sent to her death, but am met with silence. One of the signs of disapproval, of disagreement. They do not agree with the celebration of sending me away. Not even those who I know bet on each child move around on the outskirts. Then, a the three middle fingers of a left hand is raised from their lips and reaches towards me, followed by another, and soon everybody holds up their left hand in my direction. In District Twelve, this is a sign of respect, a good-bye to a loved one, a sign of admiration. I happen to know that they are rare in givings.

A wave of emotion hits me, and I return the symbol to them, my facial expression turning to one of love and sincerity long enough for them to see it before I harden it again so that the cameras won't pick up on it- if they air it at all..

I hear a timid clearing of a throat from my side, and look over to see Effie with tears in her eyes, trying to gain some of the control of this. She knows as well as I do that this could be taken as a sign of rebellion, something that should not be taking place for too long of a time.

"Well," Effie begins awkwardly, hobbling over to the boy's bowl in her death-contraptions of heels, "Time to chose a boy!" she announces tremulously, glancing nervously at the cameras that have now refocused on her.

This time, she reaches straight into the bowl, avoiding any anticipation-gaining acts, and pulls a slip of folded paper out, unfolding it carefully as she reads the name off of it.

"Peeta Mellark!"

I freeze; the name strikes me as familiar. Who was he? Was he the grocer that Prim and I visited? I watch as the crowd parts away, stranding a man in the middle. I look closely as realization takes over me. No, this wasn't the grocer, this was the kind, shy baker Prim and I visited earlier!

Determination washes over me as I make mental note. _This is one of the ones. One of the ones I will die for. One that deserves to win._

He walks slowly to the stage, as if still unbelieving his current situation. He stands to my right, and we're told to shake hands.

He sticks his hand out, still shell-shocked. I grab it gently, and give it a reassuring squeeze, hoping it comforts him at least slightly.

We're taken to the Justice Building, and Peeta and I are separated and taken to different rooms, left to wait.

This is the time we're allowed to say good-bye to our loved ones. This is the time that it will be hardest to keep the tears back, but I know I can't cry right now, either. If I were to leave this room with puffy red eyes or a stuffy nose, the cameras that are bound to be panned in on our faces will catch it. They will catch each sniffle, each tear that was not wiped away. They- the other tributes- would know the second they watched the recap, and target me as a weakling... If I plan on protecting, I can't appear weak in the slightest bit.

I sit, wondering if anyone will actually come to say their good-byes.

I don't get a warning as the door swings open and I am suddenly crushed by two smaller arms.

"Katniss, why? Why'd you do it?" She asks, her voice muffled from our hug, but even then, I know she's crying. I smooth her hair soothingly, thinking about how I should tell her this.

"Prim, you mean so much to me, and I want you to understand that," I begin, pulling her body from mine and leading her over to the seats. Once she's sit down, I explain.

"Prim, this was my plan from the beginning. I was going to volunteer for any of the names that was going to be pulled. I wanted the chance to save at least one life- at least save one child from the horrors of the Hunger Games. I didn't know that you'd be the one to be picked, but it just- it made me put everything I can into it. I've written you a letter, you know where it is," I tell her, thinking of her hiding spot she showed me, on the underside of her third drawer from the top. Her brows pull together for a moment before understanding takes over her expression. She nods affirmatively and I give a small smile.

"That letter explains everything, from my plan to my time in the Capitol, and how _amazing_ my life was there," I say sarcastically, throwing in a small wink.

"I wrote in it what I hope you'll do. A sort of dying wish... I suppose."

"But Katniss, you'll make it out, I know you will. You're smart, you- you can hunt! You know the plants, you can-" I cut her off by shaking my head sadly.

"No, Prim. I'm not in this to survive, to win. I'm in this to protect, to help. I plan on dying in that arena, but I want to make sure it's somebody good who makes it to the top, and not somebody who volunteered for the excitement of the Games," I tell her, thinking about the Career district.

Tears well over her eyes, and it takes all I can not to cry. There's a knock on the door before a Peacekeeper pops their head in.

"Time's up, ma'am," he says, addressing me.

"Could we please just have a few more minutes, Atlas?" I ask him, using puppy-dog eyes. I know Atlas from his days in training in the Capitol, and I think we're somewhat of acquaintances of sorts. He nods his head, understanding.

I turn my attention to my 'mother'.

"I know that you know what's going on, and I just wanted to thank you for letting me stay in your lovely home for this past week. It was the first time I've ever actually felt at home," I tell her genuinely, because it's true. Their home feels one hundred times more comfortable than the mansion ever did.

She nods tearfully, a few sliding down her fair cheeks. I understand that she doesn't want to talk much, and pull them both into a hug. Atlas pops his head in again, and I comply.

"I left you a letter, too," I tell Mrs. Everdeen. She nods, knowing where I put it.

"I love you! I love you both!" I say as they're ordered out.

They're ushered out of the room, and I sit on the soft velvet chair, feeling empty inside. I remember Prim's tears, and I feel my fragile being begin to crack once again as it sinks in.

I am going into the Hunger Games, but without the intentions to return. I look around, hating how nice the room is. This money could have been better spent towards larger homes, instead of cramming Seam residents into shack-like houses.

I'm surprised as the door opens once more. Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter.

Tears are in her eyes as she gives me a weak smile. I return it. Madge and I, I'd think are friends. With her dad being the mayor, we've met several times when they have to visit the Capitol on official business, and we've therefor known each other since we were at least four.

She walks up to me and hugs me, and I hug back, unsure of what else to do. Madge, I know, is like me in several ways. We are both fairly quiet people, though her looks are beautiful with porcelain skin and sky-blue eyes, hair like golden waves of sun. Her looks are desired by almost every boy in the district, I know this from the numerous stories she's told me. My raven black hair contrasts greatly with the golden waterfall that flows easily over her shoulders, by olive-toned skin dark compared to her perfectly pale skin, and my silver eyes insignificant to the piercing blue of hers. I envy her, yet can't help but admire her ability to see truth behind lies we're fed almost daily.

"Katniss, you're too good to have to live in a world so bad," she tells me, and I remember that she, too, has seen the Capitol comparison to the districts. Though she's never met my father, she's resourceful and intelligent. She knows how dictatorial he is, how cruel he can be, in each way there is.

She reaches into the pocket of her elegant dress, pulling out a golden pin and handing it to me.

"It was my aunt's. She died in the 50th Hunger Games, the one Haymitch was in. I want you to have it," she tells me," for good luck."

I pin it to my chest, and give her a sincere look of gratitude.

"You can make it," she tells me, "I know about your skills in archery, I've seen them first hand every time I'd visit. You're intelligent, understanding. You have a heart, and that's one more thing that those Careers are lacking. You can make it home, Katniss."

I shake my head, repeating my actions as I had with Prim.

"Madge, I don't plan on coming home," I tell her, and she freezes, her eyes confused and sad.

I take a deep breath, looking around the room for signs of cameras. Surely they'd allow _some _privacy for good-byes? Of course not.

In a voice as low as I can manage while still being audible, I tell her.

"Madge, I did this to save lives. I'm going to make sure that a good one gets out this time. Another blood-thirsty Career can't win this time, I won't allow it. A good soul needs to win, and I can protect the innocents. I know that, in time, I will have to kill to protect- but even by volunteering, I'm changing the life of a child, keeping them from the horrors of the Games and being a victor. We both know how _amazing_it can be," I tell her sarcastically. When I look at her expression, it's filled with awe.

"You really are too good to live in such a world... Katniss, you are one of those innocents. I know that if one of them died, you'd be heartbroken. Good luck, Katniss. I believe in you," she tells me quietly before walking out of the door.

I fidget with the pin until they call me out of the room.

As soon as I've stepped out, I notice Peeta's puffy eyes and sniffling nose; he's been crying; yes, this is one that I have to protect. I can't help but feel angry, angry that this innocent boy who seems so nice and sweet has to be pulled into the horrors of the Games.

I stand beside him and think for a second before taking his hand into mine for comfort, and a jolt of electricity runs through my body, making me startle. Brows furrowed and eyes widened, I look to him to see if he'd felt the same thing. Seeing that his dumbfounded expression matches mine, I'd say he did.

I give his hand a squeeze before pulling it away to climb into the car they've brought for the journey to the train station.

It's overall a short drive, and I try not to notice that Peeta's staring at me.

Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, I finally acknowledge him. "What is it?" I ask bluntly, and his cheeks heat up before his eyes shoot down to his shoes.

I chuckle a little at his embarrassment, but stop myself quickly, realizing how rude I'm sounding. "Honestly, what?"

His gaze rises timidly to me. "You're Katniss Snow," he tells me, his voice having a strange hint in it. I nod my head sarcastically.

"And you're Peeta Mellark," I tell him, though I know what he's trying to say.

"No," he tells me, rolling his eyes. "You're Katniss _Snow._ The president's daughter," he runs his hand nervously through his hair before continuing, "and you shouldn't even be in the Hunger Games. Your father, he loves you too much- I've seen him on T.V.," he tells me as if this is something I don't know.

I let out a sarcastic laugh, the sound causing the hollow feeling inside to grow. _Your father, he loves you too much. _Yes. I'd say he loves having someone he can constantly torture- but I don't feel as if this is the appropriate time. _  
_

His features wash over with confusion, and a small amount of disgust. I then remember who I am. I am the president's daughter, so I in turn _must_ be snobbish and greedy in nature. He doesn't know me, so of course he'd think that.

I let out a small sigh, wiping my tired eyes. I open my mouth to say something, but close it as soon as the car stops. That was a short trip.

. . . . . . .

Why hadn't I recognized her before? She's _President Snow's daughter_. I knew she looked familiar; I should have seen it. Why, though, didn't she ever seem so beautiful when broadcasted on the television?

Come to think of it, I haven't seen a single picture of her in- five years, maybe?

That was beside the point though. What I want to know was why she's even here.

Questions circle through my mind frantically, and my hands rise involuntarily to my temples. It's no secret how terrible Snow is, so there's no doubt his daughter would be as ruthless. I feel pity rush through me for those that she will be up against.

I zone back as I see a hand raise from the back, from... Mrs. Everdeen? Maybe... maybe Katniss volunteered out of good spirit. I'd seen myself how close she'd been with Prim.

More hands raise from around me and point at the girl on stage. My heart beats faster once I realize what they are doing. This is the District symbol, one expressing admiration, a sort of good-bye to those that we love. They're used sparsely, mostly for funerals...

I just stare in shock.

Effie clears her throat, obviously uncomfortable. She wobbles over to the boy's bowl on her tall high-heels, and I fleetingly wonder how those in the Capitol are even able to stand in death contraptions such as hers, much less walk.

This time, she drops her hand in and pulls a slip out, trying to get this over with as soon as possible. She clears her throat once again before speaking through her Capitol accent.

"Peeta Mellark."

People around me shuffle, and I begin to look around for the poor guy who-

My face blanches as realization sets in. That's _me._

I gulp audibly, and those around me part as if I'm ridden with some deadly disease. _Not that that's much different,_ I think to myself darkly, _either way I'd be dead. _

Peacekeepers surround me as I make my way, numbly, to the stage. On my way, I catch the eye of Rye, the second oldest of my family. His expression is pained and apologetic.

I understand, though. The bindings of family only go so far when it comes to Reaping, and I honestly don't think I'd be good enough a person to volunteer for him had I been in his place.

I give a slight nod to him, silently telling him that I don't blame him, before beginning to walk forwards again.

I stand besides Katniss Snow, and extend my hand when we're told to shake them.

Electricity jolts through my body as her hand grasps mine gently, comfortingly, and I'm taken by surprise. _I can't help but feel comfortable around__- _I banish the rest of the thought from my mind. She lets go of my hand, and we're led to say goodbye to our families and friends.

oOoOoOo

We step into the train, and I marvel every bit of space. Seats of satin and velvet, curtains and drapes made of silk - yet, in all of my amazement, I can't help but feel resentment. Hatred, even. These fabrics could easily be sold for what could turn into a year's supply of food. The size of this train could home at least twenty families...

I glance over at Katniss, who barely bats an eye. _Well, of course. She's never had to worry about such things,_ I think bitterly. Suddenly, I'm shocked by my own thoughts. Never before have I been so rude and unkind to anyone... _But she is __from the Capitol.._

Effie turns around and looks at both of us, excusing us to our rooms until dinner. Katniss and I walk down the hallway before separating at our doors, which are right across from one another's. She gives me a short nod, which I'm too exhausted to return. I feel a pang of guilt at the hurt expression that crosses her face before she smoothes it out to indifference and opens her door, disappearing inside quickly.

I sigh, deciding that I'll apologize after a quick nap, but as I lay in bed for around thirty minutes weeping, I finally accept the fact that sleep will not come.

Getting up, feeling no better, and throw on a new shirt from the large selection that's been out into the wardrobe in my room. _I suppose it's not so bad that they give us luxury before we die. Considering the fact that they're the reason we're sent to our deaths in the first place, though...__  
_

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of these dark attitude. This is not me; all of this is bringing me down, understandably. _What happened to the man that was left speechless by this very girl?_ Taking in a deep breath, I push forwards, opening my door and making my way across the rather large hall and to Katniss' door. I stop for a moment outside of it, ridding myself of all negative thoughts towards her. Pleased, I knock three times.

"Katniss?" I say through the door uneasily. I hear shuffling from behind the door before it opens a crack, her face peeking through. I give a small smile, running my hand through my hair nervously.

"I, uhm, I wanted to apologize. About earlier," I clarify. Her expression softens slightly and she opens her door fully.

"You don't have to apologize, I know that you're probably scared. Stressed. It's not your fault," she tells me soothingly before she turns on her light. I shake my head, disgusted with how I'd acted earlier.

"No, it's not okay. I- I know better than that, and I'm not normally so..." I trail off, looking for the word.

"Impolite?" she fills in, though it's not snarky. I nod.

"Yes. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed by all of this." She nods her head understandingly, and pats the spot next to her on her bed, where she's sitting in the pose that I used to call "criss-cross-applesauce" when I was younger. I make my way over and mimic her pose, sitting across from her. There's a pause, though it's not necessarily uncomfortable. I look over at her, and can't help but notice how strong she is, even now. This was one of the first things that brought me to her - besides those eyes - when I'd see her around the district.

She sighs, drawing me from my thoughts, and I look up at her, momentarily mesmerized by those orbs of grey. I take notice that they are not just one shade, but multiple shades of startling grey, though lighter colors are the majority, highlighting that of the darker shades. My cheeks redden when she catches my staring, and my hand moves to the back of my heating neck sheepishly.

Her lip twitches up in the resemblance of a smile, but it's gone before I can even acknowledge it completely.

"I suppose you've been wondering why I volunteered? Why I was even in District Twelve?" she asks, spot on. I nod. She closes her eyes for a moment before looking around the room fervently. My brows crease in confusion when she stands abruptly and grabs the lamp from the bedside table, taking the shade off and unscrewing the bulb.

I watch as she walks over to the right corner of the room, where there is a conveniently placed chair facing the bed. She eyes up and down the chair, before focussing on a smooth black jewel that buttons the cushion to the back of the chair. She smirks victoriously before smashing the lamp into it with great force.

I bite back a surprised yelp, beyond confused and, honestly, thinking this girl is mental.

Surprisingly, the lamp doesn't brake. As far as I can see, it didn't even crack, but when she retracts it from the jewel, I see sparks fly out from it. _Wait a second..._

She inspects the room and moves to the corner near the door, once again eyeing it. It looks like she sees what she's been looking for, because she goes and drags the closest chair to it and stands on it, before smashing the base of the lamp into the corner repeatedly. She wipes her forehead when she's done, and puts the chair back in its place. She places the lamp - which is amazingly still in one piece - back on the side table and screws the bulb back in and putting the shade back on, looking satisfied.

I'm sure my expression is laughable, because a small chuckle escapes her.

"The lamps, they're made of a material that's almost indestructible. They wouldn't want their precious dogs to escape their leashes," she tells me darkly, and my brows come back down from my hairline. _That would make sense_, I reason. _If a tribute were to kill themselves before the games, there would definitely be some consequence._

"I'm not a lunatic. That jewel on the chair? It wasn't a jewel. My father, he monitors each and every tribute they have. If you want proof, you can go look yourself. You'll see wires, sparks, the whole thing," she says with disgust. I don't take a look, because I saw the sparks, too. "In the corner, it was a mic. They pick up on just about everything - I know from experience," she explains further, and I nod, telling her that I understand now.

Katniss is smarter than I'd even originally thought. Of course, I'd assumed she was intelligent, but this-

"About the Reaping, I- My original plan was to volunteer, for anybody who was called. Snow, he said that I could enter my name in all of the district bowls. Seven times, so that-"

"What?" I almost yell. Within the first sentence, all thoughts associated with Katniss being a reasonable human being were erased. "You- you entered your name in... What, eighty something times? You're just like every other Capitol citizen! You just got the actual clearance to have a spot in your precious games, hoping for a chance to kill. To _murder," _I nearly snarl. I watch as her eyes widen, and it's like a piece of her shatters, but she covers it up quickly.

"No, Peeta. You didn't let me explain-"

"What is there to explain? You're just another mindless Capitolite who only cares about the rush of killing. Wasn't watching the Games enough?" I cut her off harshly, already have made it to the door, my hand grasping the knob.

"You're different than I thought, Katniss," I nearly growl, angered more than I've ever been in my life. This girl, this- this _thing, _she's just a spoiled daughter of the president, only worse. She's in this for the thrill, for the satisfaction of killing innocent children first-hand. The thought makes me sick. What the hell is wrong with her? Does she have no moral?

"Peeta, wait! It's not like that! Please, let me expl-"

The slam of her door cuts her pleads off from me, and I stride to my room quickly, filled to the brim with disappointment and hatred. I've never hated anybody so much in my life, besides her own father.

Almost an hour later, I can hear the sound of her screams from here, and I feel guilty, but refuse to apologize this time. She's the monster, not me. She's the one who deserves hostility, who deserves the disgusted looks I threw her. She's probably just throwing a tantrum, I think bitterly, but even that thought dissipates as I hear her sobs and strangled screams sound desperate and saddening.

I hear rushed footsteps down the hallway, and Haymitch's gruff voice call out to her, but I stay in my room, trying to block it out with a pillow, as if it'll block the guilt.

His knocking becomes more distressed, along with his calls, no longer calling her 'sweetheart'. It's this that draws me out of my room, and to him.

I may feel hatred for her, but this is scary. Haymitch's eyes are wild as he pounds on the door, Effie on the verge of tears to his right.

He backs up before kicking the door swiftly towards the handle. The door breaks open, and he rushes forwards, Effie and I trailing quickly behind him.

He stops abruptly, and I look over his shoulder, and what I see makes me gasp painfully. Katniss is tangled in the blanket of her bed, thrashing crazily and sobbing, no longer screaming.

"No, please, it's- not his fault," she sobs, her words broken. My hatred melts away as I take in the vulnerable girl in front of me, though I'm too ashamed to comfort her after earlier.

Haymitch blinks, before getting to action. He scoops up her trembling figure, his own eyes rimmed with red. She thrashes and cries out again, the sound breaking my heart. "N-No! Ch-Chryssa! N-no!"

"Katniss," he says hurriedly, shaking her roughly, trying to wake her up. No such luck.

"Katniss!" he says louder, and her eyes snap open, looking petrified, her chest heaving. Haymitch sets her down gently and her eyes dart around at us, but she doesn't seem to find who she's looking for, because her face scrunches up, and she turns away from us, drawing her knees to her chest before crying heavily. Haymitch sits next to her and rubs her back understandingly before ordering us out.

It isn't until another forty minutes pass by that he emerges, taking a swing from his flask, his eyes sad. He looks me in the eye before saying:

"I know what you think, or thought, or whatever. But you need to know one thing; Sweetheart in there, she's not like the other citizens in the Capitol. She has a pure heart, and while she's stubborn as a mule, she has reasons behind what she does. She's fiercely protective and loving, but makes a nasty enemy.

"She is not what you would think her to be. Her plans may be rash, but they are certainly purposeful."

* * *

**Note:** Yay! I nice, long chapter that's over 5,000 words! Woot woot! So, what did you guys think about this chapter? Kind of a crappy way to end it, but... oh well! So, I hope you guys enjoyed it.

**Leave me some reviews about any questions, comments, etc that you have!**

**No preview here, but every once in a while I'm going to do something like this:**

_***Those who leave great reviews will be messaged the preview to Chapter 5! So, get writing! I appreciate honesty!**_

_**~Burritoyum**_


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